If my darling would come,
if my beloved would tread,
I'd recognize them from their arrival,
I'd guess from their footsteps,
I'd guess from their footsteps,
if they were still a verst away
if they were still a verst away
or behind two of them.
I would go out as mist,
as smoke into the yard,
as smoke into the yard,
I'd fly as sparks,
I'd fly as sparks,
I'd flow as a flame;
I would go beside them,
Offer my mouth for a kiss.
Aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa
Sure I'd hold their hand,
even with a snake in their palm;
sure I'd kiss their mouth,
even with Death before it;
sure I'd reach to hold them,
even with Death on their collarbones;
sure I'd lie next to them,
even with my place full with blood.
But my darling hasn't got
no wolf's blood on their mouth,
nor hands covered in a snake's tallow;
nor their neck within death's reach;
their mouth is of molten butter,
their lips like of honey nectar,
their lips like of honey nectar,
hands golden, decorated,
hands golden, decorated,
their neck like the stem of a heather.